Page 294 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 36

Wearing layers of black tulle, I’m dancing miles high in the sky. I pirouette from one cloud to another. A shadow appears behind one of them. He’s back! The man with the black mask. He leaps through the cloud, grabs me around the waist, and our waltz begins. Our bodies float in perfect harmony like always except this time we’re flying too close to the sun. The heat makes me dizzy. He draws me nearer to him, leaning his head forward close to mine. The heat of his breath makes my temperature rise even more. I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to unmask him. Find out who he is. With a sharp tug, I yank off his mask. I scream. He has no face! It’s a hideous, flesh-colored, gooey mass with deep sockets and crevices where his eyes, nose, and mouth should be. A revolting reddish substance oozes out of the openings and drips onto my hands, burning them like molten lava. I jerk away from the monster, and my heart drops. Oh my God. I’m falling from the sky!

Still plummeting, I hear a chorus of muddled voices around me.

“She’s okay,” says one.

“Our spell worked!” says another.

“It’s a miracle,” says a third.

I flutter my eyes open. It takes me a moment to adjust to the bright light that envelops me. Where am I? Everything is so familiar. The dingy yellow walls, the simple wood furniture, the barred up window. Can it be? I’m back at Faraway?

Three plump, winged women surround my bed. The Badass Fairies: Fanta, Flossie, and Fairweather. They break into a chorus of “lalalala.” A bird flies in through the open window and chirps along. I’m definitely back at Faraway!

“You survived a harrowing experience,” says Fanta.

“I read all about it in the Fairytale Tattler,” says Flossie.

“Fanta, let me borrow it!” says Fairweather.

Since when were gossip magazines allowed at Faraway?

I’m not sure what’s going on. What I do know is that my head is throbbing. I rub my forehead and discover what must be a two-inch scab above my left eye. This is not going to be pretty. I fumble for Shrink’s locket to take a peek, then gasp. My treasured keepsake is gone!

Fractured memories of the events that brought me back here drift in my head, creating a hazy montage. The ball. My beautiful black gown. My dance with The Prince. The serpent that ended my life…

Wait! I’m supposed to be dead!

“We used our magic to put you into a deep sleep,” says Fanta.

“We didn’t think we could still do it,” chimes in Flossie.

“Dear, it saved your life,” adds Fairweather.

“How long have I been asleep?”

In unison: “Three weeks.”

I gasp again. So, I’ve been in a deep sleep. Like Snow White. Except I woke up by myself. What happened to the handsome prince who was supposed to wake me with a kiss? Then it hits me like a stoning. My Prince is dead! Killed by Marcella! My mother! The monster! Sorrow, deep, raw, and ruthless, rocks my body. Gallant is gone forever!

“Dear, don’t cry,” says Fanta, dabbing my tears with her apron.

“We understand it’s been a very emotional experience,” says Flossie.

“You’ll feel better after you meet with Shrinkerbell,” says Fairweather.

Shrink. I so desperately need to talk to her. The Evil Queen who had no heart now has a heart that’s broken.

I’m lying on the tattered velvet chaise lounge, the same place where I’ve spent countless hours revealing my fears, my secrets, and my sorrows. How many tears have I shed on it? Only a few compared to what I’ve just shed waiting for Shrink. Gallant’s beautiful face fills my head. But his piercing blue eyes stab my heart. I keep bleeding tears.

Shrink, at last, comes buzzing in, sprinkling her fairy dust all over me. It was magical enough to transport me to another world, but it doesn’t numb my pain. I’m afraid there’s no magic in the universe that can do that. Like my mirror that shattered into a million little pieces, my splintered heart can never be mended.

Through my tears, I notice that Shrink’s blond hair hangs loose, and she’s not wearing those ridiculous bug-eyed glasses. Her tiny arms are stretched around a thick, hardcover book.

“What’s that?” I sniffle, doubtful that it’s some kind of cure.

“It’s my new book—The Peter Pan Complex: Why Some Men Never Grow Up. Tink gave me the idea.”

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